


Soft as Water

by Momokai



Series: sweetest touch, words like song [9]
Category: The Yin-Yang Master: Dream of Eternity, 晴雅集 | The Yin-Yang Master (2020)
Genre: And By Actual Porn I Mean, And By Sensual Petting, And Qing Ming's Over Here Discovering New Kinks, Bathing/Washing, Because What's A Bath Without A Happy Finish, Boya's Chronic Allergy To Expressing His Feelings, Boya's Persisting Gay Panic, Content Warning: Qing Ming's Epic Thirst, Established Relationship, F-e-l-a-t-i-o, Grunt Confessions Because Like, Hand Jobs, I Agonized Over This For Three Days Ok Don't @ Me, I Mean Qing Ming Sticks His Grubby Paws All Over Boya, Look They're So In Love But Like, Love Confessions, M/M, Possessive Qing Ming, Qing Ming's Complete Inability To Contain Himself, Sensual Petting, Slash, Slice of Life, Someone's Surprise Talent In The Art Of, Tenderness, That One Time Boya Slipped And Yeeted Himself Into A Swamp, They're Also Morons, This Kink Is Trust, Unbeta'd We Die Like Qing Ming's Self Restraint, actual porn, hair porn, like wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29842965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momokai/pseuds/Momokai
Summary: “One would think you have no decency, watching a man bathe like this.” Boya mutters as he stiffly lifts a hand to finally begin the task of scrubbing the left over feeling of muck from his arms. Qing Ming hums, charmed, and then promptly smacks his hand away.Alternatively: Boya needs a bath, and Qing Ming is  t h i r s t y.
Relationships: Qing Ming/Boya
Series: sweetest touch, words like song [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2165322
Comments: 12
Kudos: 137





	Soft as Water

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by mutual screaming on tumblr, enabled by [slangerogkatter.](https://slangerogkatter.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Honestly I have no excuse for this ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Accompanied by the tranquil ambience of a peaceful evening and the distant, graceful tones of a guqin played so lovingly by his sweet butterfly, Qing Ming lounges on the veranda of his lakeside abode and partakes in the relaxing process of indulging in an aromatic wine and the dry, philosophical writings of a master he is certain spent more time staring down the neck of his own hubris than theorizing the finer points of astronomy and its correlation to spiritual energies as the title implies. Honestly, if it weren’t for how amusing some of the  _ (grossly incorrect)  _ hypotheses written within were, he might have rolled the trio of wooden slips up and fed them to the brazier burning merrily a few feet away. Loath as he is to damage any form of recorded knowledge, in this case he does not think the world will suffer terribly for its absence. It’s good for a few laughs, at the very least. 

Within the walls of the lakeside home he shares with his servants and one sound asleep demon child, Honey Bug continues to pluck away at her guqin, and Qing Ming sighs as he refills his cup. The hour grows late, yet he forgoes turning in for the night to continue his indulgence, fairly of the mind that he has earned every second of it even as he quietly mourns the cold nature of his bed so far from the first time as to be quite pitiable, really. He has slept alone more times than he hasn’t in his life and no matter how many times he wishes to the contrary, he will continue to do so for as long as he keeps to his duties. He thoroughly treasures every evening he spends wrapped in soft sheets and warm arms for their rarity and sweetness as a result. This however doesn’t mean he won’t bemoan said rarity. 

If he could get away with keeping his lover near he would, but just as Qing Ming himself, Boya is ever bound by duty and will always return to it when bid, however many times it takes to reluctantly drag himself away. Qing Ming has heard tell of the pitfalls of  _ long distance relationships,  _ and if it weren’t for the convenience of his portals and Boya’s magic ears he might have thrown all care to the wind and just… well, not retired because that would be  _ ridiculous _ . Perhaps go on an extended sabbatical and drag Boya with him to further cement their blossoming romance out in the world. They can keep to their duties well enough  _ without  _ the palace or whomever else seeking them out. 

All well and good in theory, but an entirely absurd notion all the same. Qing Ming sighs dejectedly and downs another mouthful of wine. At this rate he might need another bottle. 

Just as he’s contemplating the merits of dropping all pretenses of propriety and using a portal to retrieve more wine, the pleasant sound of his butterflies guqin is interrupted by the hiss and spark of a portal opening on the veranda. Qing Ming, still seated behind the low table, turns and regards the glowing array with a surprised but entirely delighted smile, cup still held aloft in his hand. There is only one other besides Qing Ming who can access his abode so freely- a gift he had bestowed upon Boya some time ago in the form of a gate talisman keyed only to him that would allow the demon hunter to come and go as he pleased,  _ (Qing Ming has, on numerous occasions, congratulated himself on the idea- no more would there be any...ill happenings brought about by his isolation). _

As if summoned by his very thoughts, Boya steps through the portal and onto the decking of his home and any elation Qing Ming might have felt at his companions arrival is promptly crushed by the weight of concern upon seeing his condition. 

Boya staggers not two steps clear of the portal drifting closed behind him, and Qing Ming barely remembers to not just drop his cup to the floor in his haste to stand, all but throwing it onto the table as he swiftly climbs to his feet and strides quickly to his lover, who halts and sways in place at his approach. 

“I’m fine.” Boya says preemptively as Qing Ming reaches him and carefully takes him by the shoulders. Qing Ming drops his eyes down Boya’s form and then returns his tired gaze incredulously. 

“Boya, you’re covered in  _ blood.”  _ Qing Ming retorts, pointed and no small part distressed- and it’s not even an exaggeration. Boya’s entire body is covered in a mixture of mud and blood, his leathers torn in several places and his hair, missing the ever present hat, is half escaping it’s topknot and streaked in the drying remnants of both. He’s an absolute mess, and he has the gall to tell Qing Ming that he is  _ fine?  _

“It’s not my blood,” Boya returns, before visibly wincing. “Mostly.” He adds, and Qing Ming makes a strangled noise in his throat before stepping into Boya’s side and taking his arm to pull over his shoulder, uncaring of any filth transferring to his own robes as he supports his lover and carefully but quickly begins to usher him inside. Boya sighs, the sound equal parts exasperated and fond, but allows himself to be all but manhandled through the halls of Qing Ming’s home, steps sure but exhausted. 

“I've taken care of it, Qing Ming, you can calm down.” Boya assures him tiredly, and Qing Ming slows and turns to him, still supporting his weight.

“Are you certain?” He asks firmly, eying the bloody edges of the ragged tears in Boya’s leathers with brows furrowed in concern. Boya nods.

“Mn. I’m just tired,” His lover replies honestly, “I promise.” He adds when Qing Ming continues to eye him dubiously, unconvinced. Qing Ming purses his lips for a moment, catching his gaze to judge his sincerity, before huffing softly, relenting. 

“You’re filthy.” The master says at length, before being struck with a thought that has him abruptly changing their course and half dragging his companion to another part of his home instead, suddenly eager. Boya snorts, but goes along willingly as he’s hauled gently towards the washroom. 

“Unavoidable when hunting beasts in a swamp.” He retorts dryly as they walk together, and Qing Ming blinks, momentarily aghast before snorting in some amusement. 

“I was wondering what that smell was.” Qing Ming jokes as he leads them into the washroom, where he tugs Boya over to the wooden bench by the privacy screen shielding the bath from view. 

"Shut up." Boya groans as he eases himself down to the seat, and Qing Ming smirks as he allows him his arm back and reaches for his leathers to begin the process of unbuckling his soiled garb and all but  _ peeling _ him out of their ruined confines with Boya grumbling a halfhearted protest but ultimately allowing it.

As he carefully helps his companion out of his chest armor and jacket, Qing Ming is relieved to find that beneath the final layer of his under garb, Boya had been sincere when he stated the care he had already shown his injuries- his arms and torso baring only the sparse, faint pink lines of freshly healed wounds that thankfully did not appear to have been too serious. He still seems to have lost some blood however, judging by his somewhat delayed responses to Qing Ming gently prodding him into various positions to better remove his gear.

"You couldn't have avoided falling in the mud, Boya?" Qing Ming teases softly as he gingerly untangles a lock of his companions disheveled hair from his weapon harness before allowing the intricate weave of cord and fine metal to drop to the floor with a solid, if slightly wet sound. Boya wrinkles his nose, disgusted as a bloodied clump of mud dislodges from the leather and plops to the once pristine floor.

"The dock was poorly maintained. I lost my footing." He grunts by way of explanation, sounding entirely unwilling to go into any manner of detail, and Qing Ming huffs a faint laugh as he kneels before him to work on his boots. While he deftly unties the lacing, Qing Ming silently marvels at the somewhat uncharacteristic lack of any protest as he carefully pulls first one boot, and then the other from Boya's feet. They have  _ certainly _ undressed each other before, but those occasions had all been during the throes of more  _ intimate _ moments- any attempts on Qing Ming's part to do so outside of those instances having been waved off with the protest of him not being a  _ servant  _ and that Boya is entirely capable of undressing himself. An unusual but not wholly unexpected quirk of his lover's that Qing Ming has attempted to work around on more than one occasion, idly believing it either habit of long years spent taking care of his own welfare or perhaps some persisting, subconscious manner of retaining some form of dignity in Qing Ming's presence. Either way the notion is absurd and has put Qing Ming out a time or ten in his attempts to care for his companion in a less sexual nature.

Now however, Boya seems to have either forgotten this quirk of his or simply decided to forgo it in his apparent exhaustion. In either case Qing Ming will not look a gift horse in the mouth, and will silently relish the opportunity he has found himself presented with and grab it with both hands post haste. 

He almost expects  _ some  _ form of protest when he finally reaches for the ties securing Boya's leggings in place, however, he is once more pleasantly surprised when his fingers find and untie the cords with little to no fanfare- Boya simply straightening absently to provide him easier access until he has parted the stiff folds of leather and paused to contemplate the necessity of having Boya stand to slide the leggings free or attempt to do so while he remains seated.

Boya beats him to it before he can decide, resting a steadying hand on Qing Ming's shoulder to lever himself into a mostly vertical position, the effort required clear in the tired lines of his face. Not wanting to have his companion waste any more energy when he decidedly has very little left to spare, Qing Ming hastily curls his fingers into the leather circling his trim waist and tugs it down, the task made slightly more difficult by the accumulated moisture and grime present between the material and Boya's skin. Honestly, did he  _ swim _ in the muck of the swamp rather than take a short dip? After a moment of struggle, Qing Ming finally gets the leggings bunched at Boya's feet and carefully helps him step out of the soiled garment, smiling faintly in amusement as his companion instantly returns to the bench before he could perhaps keel over. 

Belatedly, Qing Ming realizes that Boya healing himself so completely after battling a beast on uneven ground for an undetermined amount of time paired with some apparent blood loss must have taken quite a lot of his energy. His poor hunter, left as sturdy as a blade of tall grass in a stiff breeze. 

"Shut up." Boya grouses above him, and Qing Ming laughs brightly as he returns to his feet.

"I didn't say anything!" His companion levels him with a rather sour look in response, but combined with his undressed state and the dirt streaked across his face it mostly comes across as pitiable, and Qing Ming chuckles again despite himself. Boya's face sours further. 

"Hush, Boya, and just let me take care of you." Qing Ming all but  _ coos  _ as he steps away to quickly retrieve a cloth to wet in the raised tub built into the center of the room. The water has long since turned cold, drawn and left by a servant for Qing Ming earlier in the evening only to remain unused in his contented distraction on the veranda. It will only take a little thought and qi to heat it again, and it would be a shame to let the fragrant water go to waste. 

He suddenly has a much better use for it, anyhow. 

Qing Ming returns to his companion and uses the wet cloth to begin gently wiping the worst of the filth from Boya's skin, most of which is accumulated on his back and stomach where it had seeped inside his clothing only to be trapped by the press of his gear. The usually pristine length of his hair is another matter, and Qing Ming eyes it mournfully for a moment as he uses the hand not dragging the cloth across Boya's back to carefully pick a piece of unidentifiable  _ swamp  _ out of one of the locks that has since fallen free of its top knot. Honestly, he does not recall a time he has ever seen Boya so thoroughly  _ unkempt.  _

"Come now, let's get you cleaned up properly." Qing Ming says once he's wiped the worst of the mess from Boya's skin so that it won't dirty the bathwater over much. 

Boya stands wordlessly and more shuffles than strides for the tub beyond the privacy screen, and Qing Ming admires his naked form for only a moment before shaking his head and stepping ahead of him to quickly dip glowing fingertips into the water, heating it until faint wisps of steam and the scent of fragrant bath salts begin to curl from the surface.

Boya eyes the water dubiously for only a moment before placing one hand on the rim of the basin and lifting a leg over the edge, climbing into the tub with all the caution of a man waiting for something to jump out and _bite_ him. Qing Ming snorts and idly wonders what his companion might have thought if Honey Bug had deigned to toss in some vibrant petals for extra fragrance as she sometimes does. Truly, has he never languished in a purely indulgent bath before? Qing Ming sighs, aggrieved- this _is_ Boya after all, clearly the answer is a resounding _no, of course he hasn’t._ Qing Ming would bet the closest to self indulgence Boya has ever come is too much wine and the occasional dip in a hot spring, _(and perhaps Qing Ming himself)_. He’ll certainly have to rectify such travesty; if there ever existed a man deserving of fine comforts beyond the most _basic_ it would be his Boya, and Qing Ming will ensure he receives such as often as he can _get away with_. 

Starting now. 

Boya slips into the heated water with a barely audible sigh, and Qing Ming smiles as he perches himself on the right side edge of the tub and dips his fingers in the water to test the temperature. Boya, despite his exhaustion, does not sink into the bath as one might expect, and instead sits stiffly in the center of the tub and glances at the master all but  _ looming  _ over him with a raised eyebrow while he reaches up to undo the mess of his hair, as if to ask him  _ what he is still doing there.  _ Boya succeeds in freeing his hair from what’s left of the topknot it had been in and allows the lengthy bulk of it to fall down his back and into the water as Qing Ming titters at the look and leans away from the tub to reach into the small cabinet sitting beside it. Retrieving a fresh, soft cloth and small box of finely ground exfoliating salts from its confines, which Qing Ming carefully places on the wide ledge he is perched on. 

“Boya, one would think I’ve never seen you naked before.” He says in response to the persisting  _ look  _ on his companions face as he deftly flicks the trailing lengths of his sleeves back over his elbows and then proceeds to dip the washcloth in the water before delicately dabbing it into the expensive exfoliating salts he  _ absolutely  _ ignores his servants buying for him. 

“One would think you have no decency, watching a man bathe like this.” Boya mutters as he stiffly lifts a hand to finally begin the task of scrubbing the left over feeling of  _ muck  _ from his arms. Qing Ming hums, charmed, and then promptly smacks his hand away. Boya starts in surprise, and then turns to glare at him, Qing Ming merely smiling innocently at him in response as he quickly ensures his sleeves will remain folded back before leaning down and reaching into the water to grasp his lover’s right wrist, which he carefully lifts up and out of the bathwater. 

Boya allows the motion but watches him dubiously as Qing Ming holds his arm out and places the washcloth against the top of his shoulder before passing it lightly over his skin, running the cloth the length of his arm in one smooth stroke before returning it to his shoulder to begin again. Boya continues to glare at him over his arm as Qing Ming tenderly glides the cloth over the curves of the firm muscle in his bicep before reaching the strong length of his forearm, and eventually Boya’s glare morphs into a look of incredulity, but he makes no attempt to claim his arm back as Qing Ming sweeps the cloth under his forearm to skate the softer skin along the inside, the salts on the wet cloth doing more to remove any trace of sweat, dirt and blood from his skin than his own hand had. Qing Ming keeps the touch light and is amused when it has gooseflesh erupting over Boya’s skin in the wake of a faint shiver.

“I’m tired, not dead, I can wash myself just fine.” He grumps, but decidedly does nothing to dislodge Qing Ming’s cleansing touch. Silent smile widening, Qing Ming keeps his grasp light and the brush of the cloth gentle, tenderly bathing the length of Boya’s arm and paying particular attention to the crease of his elbow and his hand, using his thumb to delicately work the exfoliating salts on the cloth between faintly scarred knuckles, the sensitive gaps between fine boned fingers and the lightly callused flesh of his palm. He feels Boya shudder in his hands but remains silent as he eventually finishes the arm in his grasp and lowers it back into the water before standing wordlessly and rounding the tub to perch himself on the opposite side, resecuring his sleeves to begin the process anew on Boya’s left arm- much to his lover’s silent consternation.  _ Honestly _ , one would think he’s not silently enjoying the attention. 

As Qing Ming repeats the entire affair on his other arm, Boya just sort of... _ sits _ there, stiffly, evidently out of his depth and unsure. Qing Ming has no doubt that he has been bathed by servants before- but Qing Ming is not a servant, and his touch is far from brief and impersonal, as evidenced by the way he allows his fingers to lightly graze the soft flesh of Boya’s inner forearm on every other pass of the washcloth in his hand, and the gentle, almost possessive way he holds Boya’s wrist. No, Qing Ming is definitely  _ not  _ a servant, his touch far too familiar and entirely too  _ possessive  _ for that. Qing Ming thinks he might need to work on that, actually, it’s quite unbecoming of a Yin-Yang Master, if wholly  _ instinctive.  _ He honestly can’t help himself sometimes, and Boya never seems to  _ mind _ so really, is it an issue at all?

Boya, for his part, remains unusually silent under the attention where Qing Ming had been expecting more protests, instead keeping his gaze averted to the still steaming water as he absently twitches the fingers of his right hand in the bath, sending faint ripples dancing across the surface to join the ones created by the cloth Qing Ming occasionally dips into the tub to rewet. 

Finishing with the second arm, Qing Ming lowers it back into the tub and leans down to retrieve the rinsing bowl on the ground by his ankle, straightening to dip it into the water between Boya’s slightly spread knees before slowly pouring its contents over his companions shoulders, rinsing the residue left behind by the cloth and salts from his arms, using his free hand to delicately sweep the base of his hair aside to allow the water to run down the sculpted planes of his back as well. Once Qing Ming deems his skin rinsed enough, he swiftly replaces the bowl on the ground and retrieves the washcloth again, dipping it into the tub by Boya’s hip to clean it of the used salts before coating one side of it in a fresh dusting. 

Finally tearing his gaze away from the water, Boya watches him as Qing Ming slides along the edge of the tub to draw level with his legs, and Qing Ming smirks faintly when he sees the realization dawn in his lovers eyes as he reaches into the water to lightly grasp the back of his left knee, dismayed but ultimately uncaring as one of his sleeves finally slips free of his elbow and slides down his forearm into the warm water. He encounters resistance for only a moment before Boya reluctantly untenses his leg and allows it to be partially lifted from the water, Qing Ming sliding his grip from under his knee to grasp lower, long fingers curving around the bulk of his calf muscle and inwardly attempting to put a lid on his  _ appreciation  _ of the delightful feel of it in his hand. He presses the washcloth against the inner side of Boya’s knee before sweeping it down the length of his leg, fingers spread wide over the cloth to cover as much skin as his long fingers will allow. Boya twitches minutely as the cloth grazes the soft inner side of his instep, and Qing Ming bites his lip to silence the laugh he almost lets out, not keen on getting kicked for the trouble should it escape as he does it again, biting his lip harder when Boya  _ flinches  _ as the cloth skates against the sole of his foot. His lover is ticklish, how utterly  _ delightful.  _ He’ll have to remember this tidbit for another time,  _ when he’s feeling less inclined to keep all his limbs attached.  _ Somehow he doesn’t think Boya will be especially receptive to him going for his apparently oh so sensitive feet in the dead of night for his own entertainment.

Taking mercy on his companion, Qing Ming avoids the apparently  _ highly  _ sensitive skin of his sole and switches to the top of his calf, passing the cloth slightly firmer along the solid line of bone running the length of his powerful leg, unable to help dragging the grip of his other hand down to his ankle in a mirror of the cloth to delight in the firm curve of it, before depositing Boya’s foot back into the water only  _ mostly  _ unmolested,  _ (his lover has such strong, shapely legs, he can’t help himself.)  _

He scoots a little back up the edge of the tub, balancing himself on one hand as he lowers the cloth bearing one garbed in his now unfortunately soaked sleeve into the water, decidedly  _ not  _ pausing as he comes into contact with the meat of Boya’s thigh, and finds himself having to force his hand to pass the cloth along the firm length of it  _ without  _ lingering over long less he disturb the strange stillness that has overtaken Boya at his ministrations. Despite his best efforts however, Qing Ming can’t help but trail his thumb along the tender skin of his inner thigh as he sweeps the cloth over it, and swallows thickly when he glances up to find Boya watching him remarkably  _ intently _ . Certainly a shift from his earlier glaring. 

Deciding avoidance is the better path to valor, Qing Ming reluctantly removes the cloth from Boya’s thigh and stands, wringing his wet sleeve out absently onto the floor unconcernedly as he once again switching sides to repeat the entire process along the length of his lover’s other leg, graciously avoiding the bottom of his foot and entirely too aware of the stare boring into him from below. His touch remains unhurried and gentle but for the moments he uses the cloth on the skin of Boya’s submerged thigh once again, exercising an honestly  _ monumental  _ amount of self restraint to keep his touch fleeting and purposeful under the weight of Boya’s heavy gaze. Deciding a distraction is in order, Qing Ming licks his lips and asks;

“So what manner of beast managed to get its claws into you?” Boya grunts and finally looks away, blessedly releasing Qing Ming from his intent  _ staring  _ to shift his gaze to the privacy screen shielding the bath from the doors and lifting his arms from the water to rest his elbows along the rim of the tub, arm just barely brushing Qing Ming’s hip. 

“A dead one.” He replies flatly, explaining absolutely nothing and not caring a single iota, and Qing Ming snorts as he stands from his perch and reseats himself on the edge just behind his companion, who only glances at him over his shoulder for a moment before apparently deciding to ignore him. At least now Qing Ming can work without feeling  _ hunted.  _

“Did falling into the swamp happen before or after you killed it?” Qing Ming teases as he cleans the cloth again and reapplies more salts, trying  _ not  _ to feel like he’s sneaking up on his lover as he gently rests a hand on the wet, warm skin of his shoulder and lightly presses the cloth against the side of his neck, just under his ear, before sweeping it slowly down and along the edge of his collar bone. Boya’s fingers flex where they dangle from the rim of the tub, and Qing Ming tracks the minute movements as he leans carefully forward to smooth the cloth spread wide in his hand down the firm planes of Boya’s chest, already wet sleeve once again slipping into the water along Boya’s side. 

Boya inhales deeply seemingly on reflex, and Qing Ming smiles as the tense line of his back gradually begins to ease, finally relaxing into the soothing drag of the cloth against his skin as it glides up and over the other collarbone, Qing Ming’s elbow almost looping his neck as he continues the pass to his shoulder. He almost expects Boya to react now, to tense once again likely instinctively to the arm so close to his throat  _ (even if it is Qing Ming’s)  _ but is pleasantly surprised when nothing happens, and brings the cloth back around to delicately sweep at the dip between Boya’s collar bones before slowly dragging it higher,  _ testing  _ almost, long fingers spread wide over the cloth that blankets the soft skin of Boya’s throat as his hand creeps ever higher in a moment of either poorly restrained desire or morbid curiosity. 

Realistically, he  _ knows _ that Boya trusts him implicitly; has had his life and very spirit in his hands before, but he is still  _ floored  _ when Boya responds to the tender hand on his throat by sinking backwards to relax against the side of the tub and cushioning his head on Qing Ming’s thigh, dark eyes sliding closed and baring his most vulnerable part to Qing Ming's touch seemingly without thought and entirely oblivious to what it  _ does to him _ . Qing Ming finds all moisture vanishing abruptly from his mouth, and swallows thickly as he finishes the languid sweep of hand and cloth up the column of Boya's throat, free hand flexing against the warm skin of Boya’s shoulder in an attempt to distract himself as his fingers linger just under the arch of his jaw before allowing his touch to descend back to the relative safety of his collarbones. 

Boya swallows under his hand before he gets very far, and Qing Ming only  _ just  _ barely resists spreading his palm back over the length of his throat to  _ feel  _ it, and instead forces himself to continue his hands path downward to pull the washcloth over the firm lines of Boya’s torso, steadily tilting further forward until he’s almost  _ looming  _ over Boya’s shoulder without noticing, fingertips dipping lower and grazing the surface of the bathwater as he passes his hand along the curve of his ribs, before sinking lower still to dip completely into the warm water, smoothing the washcloth over and between the hard planes of his taut stomach. 

Boya breathes in deeply, chest expanding under his arm, and as he exhales his warm breath dampens the skin of Qing Ming’s neck between the loose collar of his robes, and now it’s Qing Ming’s turn to shiver as he drags the cloth through the water and over the jut of Boya’s hip. Shifting on his perch to achieve a better angle with which to continue bathing Boya’s torso, Qing Ming doesn’t realize the position he’s put himself in until he feels lips brush the side of his neck, followed almost immediately by the graze of teeth, and Qing Ming freezes with hand and cloth spread wide over the firm planes of Boya’s belly. 

The mouth against the side of his neck stills with him, and Qing Ming swallows thickly before slowly continuing the tender glide of his hand further south, the man under his hand arching faintly into his touch as he drags it over and past the dip of Boya’s navel before his fingers encounter the hard edge of his lover’s evident arousal, hidden beneath the water. Boya exhales against the flesh of his neck at the touch, the blunt press of his teeth resting softly against the side of his throat firming for only a brief moment before retreating to be replaced with the soft graze of his lips once more, and it takes everything Qing Ming has not to do something… unbecoming. _ Like crawl into the bath with him and make a mess of them both, and likely the floor. _

Temptation a heavy, hot weight in Qing Ming’s belly- with Boya so delightfully pliant and willing beneath his palms the urge to sink his touch  _ lower  _ and grasp the hard length of him in his hand is almost overwhelming. Heart thumping a heated staccato in his chest, Qing Ming reluctantly pulls his hand away from Boya’s cock, dragging the cloth back up to his chest and over a peaked nub, earning a short, sharp nip to the side of his neck in response that has Qing Ming huffing a laugh- he is not alone in his disappointment, clearly.

Qing Ming rinses the cloth briefly in the bathwater by Boya’s hip before withdrawing, only to be stopped by his companions hand snapping away from the edge of the tub to snake around the back of his neck, halting his retreat and tugging him down. Boya leans up as he drags him back in, and Qing Ming finds that he can’t deny either of them this, and meets his lips with a quiet groan. The angle is... interesting, he thinks, as he kisses Boya upside down, but they adjust quickly and Qing Ming relishes the wet slide of their lips against each other as Boya’s hand tightens against the back of his neck. Almost without his notice, Qing Ming drops the cloth into the water and raises his hand to cup the curve of Boya’s throat, thumb pressing lightly into the soft skin beneath the hook of his jaw. Boya groans, and Qing Ming swallows the sound greedily as he braces his other hand on the edge of the tub, bowing himself precariously over his lover to slip his tongue past Boya’s lips, rumbling contentedly as he thoroughly tastes him. It’s dangerous, he thinks, kissing Boya like this when his restraint is already hanging on by a mere thread, and if he doesn’t stop then he’s afraid this tender venture is going to end swiftly.

Abruptly, Qing Ming breaks the kiss and straightens, Boya’s hand falling from his neck in surprise as he quickly retrieves the cloth floating by his companions hip. Boya scowls up at him in response to his retreat, and Qing Ming chuckles somewhat roughly, trying not to feel too much like a terrible  _ tease  _ as he reaches for the salts again, Boya grumbling something likely uncomplimentary and entirely deserved to his character under his breath as he turns away. 

“Patience, Boya." Qing Ming says, hypocrisy tweaking his cheek as he shifts against the ledge and lightly nudges his lovers back away from the side of the tub and reaches for the ruffled fall of midnight hair down Boya's back, taking it gently by the base just under his hairline and lifting it away from his skin. The locks are heavy in his hand, weighed down by a combination of gods know what from the swamp and bathwater, the bulk of it having been left to drift in the tub since they started this venture, and Qing Ming carefully twirls the length of it once to keep it all together before gently passing it over Boya's shoulder, baring the entirety of his sculpted back to Qing Ming's hungry gaze. 

Boya obliges him by leaning forward slightly, presenting his back with little fanfare, fully aware of the masters intentions at this point and too relaxed to mind- at least that's what Qing Ming believes as he sets to work on his companions back, lavishing it with as much attention as he had the rest of him. Water trickles in near constant streams down Boya's spine as Qing Ming lightly glides the washcloth over the backs of his shoulders, hand drifting higher to sweep the curve of his neck, under his hairline and around to gently massage the cloth into the soft skin below Boya's ears before smoothing down the sides of his neck and across the tops of his shoulders. 

Removing the cloth from Boya's skin, Qing Ming dips it back into the water and reapplies it lower, tenderly wiping down the firm planes of his side, the back of his hip, and across to repeat on his other side, Boya remaining pliant under his touch even as it drifts further down and ghosts over the base of his spine, the tips of Qing Ming's fingers dipping into the crease of his ass in a moment of pure self indulgence that does absolutely  _ nothing  _ for his self control and going surprisingly unremarked upon before once again aiming for higher, arguably safer ground. 

The soft, golden glow of the lanterns in the washroom reflect off the water and Boya's wet, now clean skin- and Qing Ming hums, pleased at his efforts as he squeezes the cloth, wringing the water from its folds and placing it carefully aside with the box of salts as Boya straightens. Standing, Qing Ming swiftly stoops by the small cabinet to retrieve the wide wooden basin and short stool beside it before returning to his companion, who watches him silently over his shoulder. Placing the stool on the ground behind Boya, Qing Ming lowers himself into it and situates the basin between his feet, reaching into its depths to retrieve a pair of thick, rounded phials and a large, long toothed comb. 

Boya must predict what’s going to happen next, because he sighs and scoots himself along the bottom of the tub until his back is pressed to the wall of it and uses one hand to lift the bulk of hair laying wetly against his chest and toss it carelessly over his shoulder, before tilting his head back to rest against the edge, laying his arms along the rim of the bath again. Qing Ming catches the thick, wet rope of hair before it can slap the side of the bath or the ground  _ (or him) _ , and shifts the basin between his feet until it’s positioned under the trailing, dripping lengths of Boya’s hair and allows it to slip through his fingers. 

Qing Ming eyes the strands thoughtfully for a moment and reaches for the rinsing bowl by his foot, dipping it into the bath to fill it before carefully pouring its contents through the base of Boya’s hair. The water runs through the strands quickly, gravity pulling it all down and into the wide basin below, and Qing Ming does it a second and third time before using his free hand to cup Boya’s brow, pouring water over the crown of his head to soak the roots without letting it trickle over his face. Qing Ming sees Boya’s eyes slip closed, and smiles when he sighs contentedly as Qing Ming continues to sluice water over his head, all but going boneless under the attention when Qing Ming removes his hand from his brow to instead work his fingers into his scalp as he pours the water. 

By the time Qing Ming is satisfied that he’s flushed the worst of any lingering filth from Boya’s hair, the basin is half full and only mildly cloudy from  _ swamp  _ residue, and Qing Ming grabs it and stands to quickly empty it over the grate near the corner of the washroom before retaking his seat behind his lover and sliding the now empty basin back under the dripping ends of his hair. Qing Ming plucks the larger of the phials from the floor and uncorks it, raising it to his nose to inhale the faint sweet scent of the herbal rinse within with a pleased sound before applying it liberally to Boya’s hair, combing it through the strands with his fingers as he pours in segments. After using probably half the bottle and absolutely not caring, Qing Ming reseals it and sets it aside before flicking his sleeves back over his elbows and eagerly, if carefully, burying the fingers of both hands into Boya’s hair, working the rinse in generously starting from the ends. 

Despite his initial fears, the thick strands aren’t as soiled as they could have been after being subjected to the swamp, the bulk of it likely given some protection by the surely severe tightness of Boya’s habitual topknot.  _ Although _ , Qing Ming thinks as he carefully untangles a short, thin twig from the strands- it hadn’t gotten away  _ completely  _ unscathed. He drops the twig into the basin between his feet and continues up the body of hair until finally, he’s burying his fingers into the roots, nails lightly scraping Boya’s scalp as he gently massages the rinse in. Boya  _ melts  _ beneath his fingers, all but giving off the air of a purring cat as he tilts his head further into the masters hands with a pleased sounding grunt.

Laughing softly under his breath, Qing Ming somewhat mournfully untangles his fingers from Boya’s scalp and plucks the comb from where he had left it on the floor before scooping up the trailing ends of Boya’s wet, now faintly herbal smelling hair dangling over the basin to begin carefully tugging the comb through it all. Knowing exactly how much it can hurt if one is not mindful, Qing Ming diligently begins the painstaking but delightful task of combing out Boya’s beautiful mane, beginning with the ends and slowly working his way up. A small leaf is combed out in quick order, apparently missed by Qing Ming’s fingers earlier, and he tuts silently as he gently pulls the comb through Boya’s hair, encountering surprisingly few knots- any that he does find untangling easily with the aid of the rinse and Qing Ming’s diligent fingers. 

Boya remains silent and unmoving through it all, relaxed as he is in the bath as Qing Ming washes and combs his hair, and Qing Ming tilts forward slightly to peek at his face to see if he is in fact even still  _ awake  _ after all of this  _ petting.  _ Boya must sense the movement, because he slits an eye open to glance at his peering profile, and with that question answered Qing Ming smiles innocently in return before pulling back to continue his ministrations. 

He gently cards the comb through the strands of Boya’s crown, following the comb lightly with his fingers before reaching up to carefully comb back his hairline, brushing the entirety of it away from his face and smoothing it down with his palm as he goes. Boya makes a soft pleased sound as the pads of his fingers brush his temples, and Qing Ming hums amusedly before setting the comb aside and retrieving the bowl to begin rinsing again. 

Carding his fingers more easily through Boya’s hair now, Qing Ming thoroughly washes the product from the strands until the water begins to run clear before gathering the body of it in his hands to gently squeeze out the excess moisture. With that done, Qing Ming grabs the second phial and un-corks it, pouring a small amount of the contents within into his palm and setting the phial aside to rub the lightly scented oil between his hands before once again burying his fingers into Boya’s hair, combing the oil through the wet strands and spreading it all through the length of it. When he reaches Boya’s head, Qing Ming slides the pads of his fingers into the roots and presses the pads of his fingers into Boya’s scalp, massaging the remainder of the oil on his fingers into his skin. Boya exhales and somehow melts even further into the side of the tub, going all but boneless under his touch and Qing Ming bites his lip to stop the coo that almost escapes as he gently digs his fingertips into the hairline of Boya’s temples and circles them, kneading whatever tension remains in his companion right out with the languid slide of his fingers into his skin. 

Qing Ming keeps it up, sliding his fingers over Boya’s eyebrows, along his hairline and behind his ears before slowly making his way under his head, using more pressure the closer he comes to the base of his lover’s neck until he’s thoroughly kneading into the muscle there. His fingers begin to ache after a time, but Qing Ming cheerfully ignores the strain and digs his thumbs into the meat of Boya’s shoulders just below his neck, the venture made slightly awkward when the backs of his hands knock into the side of the bath with Boya likely too far gone to make it any easier for him, not that Qing Ming minds in the  _ least _ . Grinning, Qing Ming leans forward once again to peek at his companions face, not wholly surprised to find him on his way to half asleep. 

Smug, Qing Ming straightens and slowly slides his fingers out from under Boya’s head to once again reach for the comb, which he then tugs through his hair a few times to ensure he hadn’t tangled it anywhere with his earlier ministrations before carelessly dropping it into the basin, where it splashes lightly into the water. Bending, Qing Ming carefully shifts the basin out from between his feet, leaving it to the side to empty later before leaning aside to the cabinet once more to retrieve the small towel folded neatly on its surface. He flicks it free of its fold and gently wraps the deep blue fabric around the base of Boya’s hair before pressing it all tightly between his palms, loosening his hold only to drop it slightly and repeat the process down the length of Boya’s hair, the towel soaking up any of the leftover moisture from the strands until it’s left merely damp and not soaking.

Dropping the towel beside the basin, Qing Ming reaches up into his own hair and pulls the simple wooden pin there free and fits it between his teeth, freeing up his hands so he can carefully gather the freshly cleaned fall of Boya’s hair, lightly twisting it all together before taking the pin from his mouth to gently work into the strands to hold the loose, makeshift bun in place- it wouldn’t do for all his work to be undone should it all fall back into the bathwater, after all.

Leaning back in his seat, Qing Ming admires his handiwork for a moment before standing, stepping forward and bending at the waist to lean over his half asleep lover. It takes a beat, but Boya eventually slides his eyes open to blink languidly up at him, and Qing Ming smiles as he brings his hands around to lightly grasp Boya’s cheeks. 

“All done.” He says, and Boya grunts in response before abruptly reaching up an arm to grab him by the front of his robes and tug him the rest of the way down. Qing Ming laughs lightly and obliges, bracing his hands on either side of the tub to lean in and accept the kiss Boya presses against his lips, unsurprised when it is quickly deepened, his lover showing his appreciation for Qing Ming’s efforts with the wet slide of lips and tongue, which, predictably, brings the full force of his earlier temptation right back to the fore. 

Not unaffected in the least, Qing Ming rumbles lowly into the kiss and removes a hand from the side of the bath to smooth his palm over the column of Boya’s throat, thumb once again finding the soft hollow along the edge of his jaw below his ear and lightly circling into it. Boya sighs appreciatively at the action, and Qing Ming’s belly rapidly floods with heat as he hunkers lower and slides his palm down the length of the throat under his hand, smoothing over the sculpted planes of Boya’s chest before drifting further south until his hand sinks beneath the cooling water, restraint cheerfully flying out the proverbial window now that his self appointed and much delighted in task is completed. 

Skating his palm over Boya’s stomach, Qing Ming’s fingers quickly find his lover’s arousal, still very much present despite the lack of his attention. He feels Boya’s hand tighten in his robes as Qing Ming circles his fingers around his length and strokes it once, grip light, before closing his hand around it more firmly. Boya makes a faint sound into their kiss, and Qing Ming swallows it greedily, using the odd angle to dip his tongue into his lover’s mouth and draw out another muffled sound as he strokes him firmly beneath the water, not noticing when his sleeve once again slips free of his elbow to fall into the bath between Boya’s partially spread thighs.

Boya’s other hand pulls away from the edge of the tub to latch onto the forearm working between his legs, and Qing Ming quickens the pace of his hand in response, drawing a groan from Boya which he swallows along with the rest before disengaging from the kiss to lower himself closer to the side of the bath, spread knees touching the ground and all but sitting on his own ankles to press his nose into his companions jaw. The hand knotted into the front of his robes releases its grip only to reach further back to grasp the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, and Qing Ming hums into the skin of Boya’s jaw before pressing a kiss to the side of his throat, not once ceasing the movements of his hand in the water. The grip on his forearm tightens, and Boya arches into his hand with a moan that has Qing Ming muffling a sound of his own against the side of his neck and stroking him faster, swiping the pad of his thumb over the head of his cock and adding a light twist to his wrist that has one of Boya’s knees abruptly drawing up out of the water with a light splash.

Releasing the edge of the tub, Qing Ming drapes his other arm over Boya’s front and curls it up over his chest until he’s all but pinning his lover against the side of the bath as he works him closer and closer to completion, lips pressed against the side of his neck and peering sideways to watch his hand in the water and the way Boya arches into his grip, hips jerking in languid thrusts as he nears climax. 

Boya’s fingers spasm around Qing Ming’s forearm, and he arches back into the masters shoulder with a breathless groan that goes right to Qing Ming’s own arousal as he comes abruptly in his hand, hips twitching up in aborted half thrusts as Qing Ming gentles his hold and works him through it, drawing out his pleasure until Boya uses the grip on his forearm to weakly push him away, oversensitive. 

Smirking into the skin of Boya’s neck, he releases his softening length and removes his arm from around him before pressing a quick kiss into his cheek and standing, ignoring the insistent press of his own erection against the front of his pants. Something pops at the motion, and Qing Ming grimaces faintly as he slides the stool aside with his foot and retrieves the body towel draped over the hook on the back of the cabinet. He returns to his spent companion and opens the towel between his hands.

_ “Now  _ we’re done.” He says with an impish smile and Boya, still in the process of regaining his breath in the tub, side eyes him with such exasperation Qing Ming can’t help but chuckle. 

“Why do I get the impression that you  _ planned  _ this?” Boya huffs as he reluctantly begins the process of trying to climb out of the bath, gripping the sides to haul himself up, knees visibly wobbling for a moment before he stands completely. Qing Ming smiles innocently and flaps the towel in his spread hands, only to pout when Boya snatches it from him with a  _ look.  _

“Come now, Boya, however could I have planned you falling into a swamp?” He asks, entirely honest on that point but decidedly not admitting the fact that he  _ had  _ pounced on the opportunity for what it was. Boya squints at him as he steps out of the tub and begins to wipe himself down with the towel. Qing Ming rolls his eyes. 

“You overestimate my ability, Boya, I’m truly flattered.” He titters, and Boya snorts from behind the towel as he pats his face dry. 

“I bet you are.” He mutters. Qing Ming smiles again and steps over to the privacy screen to retrieve the simple, thin white bath robe tossed over the top of it, flicking it out once before sliding his fingers into the shoulders of it and holding it open for his companion, who eyes it and him dubiously for a moment before rolling his eyes and turning to slip his arms into the sleeves. 

“But you enjoyed it.” Qing Ming says matter of factly as he slides the soft material over Boya’s dry shoulders. His lover clears his throat and steps away from him, pulling the robe shut and securing the ties at the hip. 

“I could have bathed myself just fine, you’re not a servant.” Boya grumps in an old, familiar argument as he reaches up to remove the wooden pin from his hair, letting the still faintly damp weight of it fall down his back enticingly. Qing Ming eyes the midnight strands dampening the white fabric of his bath robe for a beat, before shaking his head and accepting the pin that Boya holds out to him. 

“And what if I  _ wanted  _ to, Boya?” He retorts as he carelessly slips the length of polished wood haphazardly back into his own hair if only for lack of anywhere else to put it. Boya turns to stare at him incredulously. 

“Why would you want to?” His lover asks, and Qing Ming hums as he steps closer, closing the distance between them to curl his hands over Boya’s hips and reel him in. Boya comes willingly,  _ absently _ , even, and Qing Ming smiles before tugging him into a short, chaste kiss. 

“Perhaps I simply wanted to take care of you, hmm?” He replies softly, and Boya’s ears redden as he looks away with a huff. Qing Ming’s smile widens, gaining a teasing edge as he chuckles faintly and pecks his companions warm cheek. His lover can be so delightfully  _ dense  _ at times, most notably in regards to romance, often oblivious to or confused by Qing Ming’s various forms of affection or attempts to take care of him. It is both charming, and unexpectedly sobering in some ways. 

“Come, you’re no doubt exhausted and it’s late.” Qing Ming says as he reluctantly steps away, releasing Boya’s waist to take him by the hand instead and tug him from the washroom. Boya doesn’t protest, allowing himself to be led silently as Qing Ming makes for his  _ (their)  _ rooms, pace unhurried,  _ (if slightly awkward on account of his persistent and pointedly ignored arousal _ ) as he walks them through the silent halls of his home.

Reaching the doors to the rooms, Qing Ming slides them open wordlessly without letting go of his lover’s hand and steps in, tugging Boya in after him before sliding the door closed behind them. 

Leading Boya to the bed, he doesn’t even get the chance to say anything before Boya shakes his hand off and all but faceplants into the bedding, apparently deciding to forgo removing the bath robe for something a little more appropriate for sleeping. Qing Ming huffs a laugh and sets about removing his own lounging robe, slipping out of the top layer to toss it carelessly to the floor where the wet sleeve meets the wood with a faint  _ splat.  _ Qing Ming lifts his arm and purses his lips at the trailing length of his undersleeve, also decidedly damp, and shucks that layer as well, leaving him bare chested with only his half pinned hair to shield his torso from the late night air. 

Before he can turn to retrieve something to sleep in from his wardrobe, a hand catches the loose material of his pants, and Qing Ming looks down just as Boya unburies his face from the pillow to turn and eye him, tugging his pants pointedly. Shrugging, Qing Ming forgoes a fresh robe and climbs into bed as is, settling on his side facing his companion only to grunt in surprise when Boya lifts an arm and shoves at his shoulder, effectively pushing him over onto his back instead. Qing Ming opens his mouth to complain, because he had had every intention of sidling in as close as he could get away with, but before he can speak Boya lifts himself onto his arms and shifts closer, climbing over Qing Ming to hover over him with his knees bracketing his thighs. Qing Ming makes a questioning noise, vaguely confused until Boya leans down to kiss him, and Qing Ming hums as he returns it and lifts a hand to slide his fingers into his lover’s still damp hair. 

The kiss is languid, an indulgent slide of lips and tongue that does little to cool the simmering heat Qing Ming has been trying to ignore for the better part of an hour, and he almost wants to comment because it hasn’t been  _ that  _ long since Boya came in the bath,  _ surely  _ he’s not ready for a second round so soon-

Boya withdraws with a last, light nip to his bottom lip and Qing Ming blinks up at him just in time to catch the  _ glint  _ in his dark eyes before he abruptly slips down the length of his body to begin untying his obscenely tented pants. Qing Ming lifts himself onto his elbows to peer down his body in a mixture of slight bewilderment and partial longing as his lover flicks the loosened fabric of his pants open, exposing his arousal in full.

“Boya-” He begins, only to choke noisily as he’s abruptly engulfed in slick,  _ wet  _ heat. His hips buck in surprise, but they’re hastily pinned beneath Boya’s palms as he swallows Qing Ming’s cock to the base, displaying a skill Qing Ming had no idea he was in possession of in the first place but so,  _ so  _ far from complaining as he slumps back into the mattress with a groan, the unexpected but entirely appreciated pleasure quickly rendering him utterly  _ useless _ . 

He can’t help it when he snakes a possessive hand down to bury in Boya’s hair, helpfully sweeping the bulk of it away from his face and pinning it back with his fingers as Boya sinks down on his cock again, tongue pressed flat against the underside of him and somehow setting off every nerve Qing Ming  _ has-  _ and the master is abruptly glad that his hips are pinned because he can’t stop himself from trying to buck up into the glorious wet heat engulfing him, overcome with the different but immensely enjoyable sensation. 

They’ve certainly partaken in numerous intimacies in their time together, but this is a first. Qing Ming himself has eagerly used his mouth on his lover a time or twenty in various ways, but Boya had yet to enlighten him to this particular skill of his and he thinks he might need to have  _ words  _ with his lover because  _ why  _ had he not done this sooner, he’s  _ startlingly  _ good at it and if he keeps it up Qing Ming is going to  _ embarrass himself- _

Qing Ming jams the meat of his thumb into his mouth to muffle the obscene moan he lets out as he feels Boya’s  _ throat  _ flex around him, biting his hand hard as Boya withdraws halfway before hollowing his cheeks, and Qing Ming makes a strangled noise around his hand as the rapidly coiling heat in his belly threatens to spring with mortifying speed, and he tugs urgently on his lovers hair, much too close much too soon only to apparently be ignored because Boya swallows him down again, impossibly deeper, and Qing Ming chokes out a groan as the coil abruptly  _ snaps  _ and he comes  _ hard  _ down Boya’s throat, jerking uselessly against the heavy hands pinning his hips to the bed as Boya swallows around him, greedily milking him of his spend and drawing the wave of release out until Qing Ming’s entire body threatens to curl with the force of it. 

The wave finally crashes and Qing Ming slumps bonelessly into the bedding, spent and breathing heavily as he spits out his hand and allows it to thump into the mattress beside him. Boya gently eases his mouth from Qing Ming’s softening cock and thoughtfully tucks him back into his pants before carefully crawling back up his body, hair mussed under the master’s hand and lips startlingly red and shiny and  _ smug.  _

“ _ Boya _ ,” Qing Ming pants, before swallowing, “Have you been holding out on me?” He asks as his lover draws level with his face and leans down to slide his slick lips against Qing Ming’s, likely to silence his typical post-coital prattle, and Qing Ming hums as he accepts the kiss, tasting himself on Boya’s tongue and not caring in the least. He releases his grip on Boya’s hair, letting it fall around them as he smooths his hand down his lover’s side before Boya slowly pulls away, their lips parting with a wet sound as he carefully tips sideways to fall into the bed beside him, warm body pressed along his side. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” Qing Ming says at length, once his breathing has finally returned to normal and his heart has slowed to a less harrowing pace. Boya grunts and shoves his face into the curve of Qing Ming’s neck, settling more firmly into the bedding and his side. 

“Maybe I just wanted to take care of you.” Boya retorts into his skin, and Qing Ming blinks in surprise, before smiling, utterly suffused with delight, with  _ warmth _ . He shifts his arm, worming it under his lover to curl around his waist to tug him closer with a contented sigh before turning his head to press a kiss into his hairline. 

“I love you.” He murmurs, and Boya remains silent for a moment before grunting softly in response, and Qing Ming laughs, not in the least deterred. His lover is, as ever, reticent about his feelings, but Qing Ming doesn’t mind- he knows his companion will spit it out eventually, and he’s more than willing to wait. 

**Author's Note:**

> Boya: -Yeets into the drink-  
> Qing Ming: Oh dear, what a pity. Good thing I have this bath handy  
> Boya: ಠ_ಠ
> 
> Google Docs: That's not a word  
> Me: It is now
> 
> I feel sorry for who ever has to clean that washroom, Qing Ming *please* put things away properly. What are you, an animal?
> 
> This was titled The Care and Feeding of Your Boya in my google docs and you have *no idea* how hard I cackled every time I saw it. It was a struggle not to keep it as the working title I tell you. I need Jesus. 
> 
> We now have a [Discord](https://discord.gg/JFDS7gGJV5) everyone! Come over, join us! It's a fully kitted out content creators server dedicated to The Yin-Yang Master: Dream of Eternity, and we would love to have you!


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